(I work in a shoe store. A customer comes over to me with a pair of shoes.)

Customer: “What material are these shoes made of? Are they made of leather?”

Me: “No, they are synthetic.”

(According to my boss, we don’t need to know the exact formula, just that a pair of shoes is synthetic or leather, etc.)

Customer: “Synthetic? What exactly does that mean? So, they’re not leather?”

Me: “No, they’re not. Synthetic means they’re artificially made and not of leather or any other naturally occurring material.”

Customer: “Uh-huh. But are they leather?”

Me: “No.”

(Customer takes the pair of shoes away. Two minutes later I see her talking to my coworker with another, similar pair of shoes in her hands. This new pair is clearly made of same material than the previous one.)

Customer:*to coworker* “Synthetic, I see. But are they made of leather?”

(I work nights in a call center. Tonight, I am taking calls for a company that handles electric repairs for farm equipment and generators. Since they have “Electric” in their name, we get a lot of calls for people trying to reach the power company. It’s about 2 AM.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [company]. Can I help you?”

Caller: “I ain’t got no ‘lectric.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, but this isn’t—”

Caller: “What you gonna do ’bout it? My son has asthma; he can’t be without air conditioning!”

(Note that it’s about 50 degrees outside, so it’s not hot at all.)

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that as well, but this isn’t—”

Caller: “He’s turning blue!”

Me: “Ma’am, I think you should take him to the emergency room right away!”

Caller: “They ain’t got no power either!”

Me: “Ma’am, I can see the hospital from my office window. They appear to have power.”

Caller: “Listen, you! We have no power and my child is sick. You need to do something.”

Me: “Ma’am, as I’ve been trying to explain, this isn’t your electric company. This is a a generator company for farm equipment. I’m pretty sure you have the wrong number. If you are concerned about the child, I urge you to take them to the hospital or call 911!”

Caller: “If you came into MY restaurant to eat, got sick, and called to complain, I would fix the problem. I wouldn’t tell you to go to the hospital!”

Me: “Ma’am, at this point, I really feel you are being needlessly antagonistic. I’ve told you that you have the wrong number and there’s nothing I can do for you. If you don’t want to take him to the hospital and he needs air conditioning to breathe, I suggest you take him outside. It’s only 50 degrees out—”

Caller: “Did you just call me evil?! I’ll have your job for this! I’m recording this call, you little b****! And when I find you–”

Me: “All of our calls are recorded, ma’am. If you continue to threaten me, I will contact the police. You have the wrong number. Good night.”

(She calls back at least a dozen more times, continuing not to listen, refusing to believe she has the wrong number, or that there is power at the hospital.)

(It’s the end of the day at the grocery deli. Most of the other customers have left. I am just about to start closing up when a last customer walks up. He is wearing oversized glasses and mismatched clothing, as if he hasn’t done his laundry in a while.)

Customer: “Hey, you closing up?”

Me: “I’ve got enough time for ya! What do you need?”

(He orders and I begin preparing it.)

Customer: “So, how is that job?”

Me: “Nothing really to complain about, other than the occasional weird customer—”

Customer: “You know, I’m pretty weird! You want to see how weird I am?”

Me: “No, sir, that’s all right, I was just—”

(The customer proceeds to pull down his pants right in the middle of the store and does a little victory pose. I’m so dumbfounded I almost cut myself on the slicer.)

Customer:*pulling his pants up* “I bet you haven’t met anyone weirder than that yet, have ya?!”